The Perils of Bookkeeping
by 7Minutes
Summary: Crope vents his frustrations over his summer job to a disinterested Tibbet Wicked bookverse


Author: Lindsay S.  
Rating: PG  
Fandom: _Wicked_ (book-verse)  
Pairing: Crope and Tibbet  
Disclaimer: They belong to Gregory Maguire. I don't think I could handle them if they were mine; I'd probably have sold them by now.  
Summary: Crope vents his frustrations over his summer job to a disinterested Tibbet.  
Notes: Um...not much here. Yay for in-canon slash pairings! A little bit of language - as in, maybe a word or two. And some boy-touching, because what else do I write, really? And for all those who say I can't write non-angsty fan fiction, to you I say: Take that!

Sniffling, Crope pulled back from an overwhelmingly tall shelf stuffed with tattered, leather-bound books. He held a hand up to his face to protect his nostrils from the invading cloud of dust, but the gesture was in vain and he let loose a sneeze so great he was sure he felt the building quiver. Crop paused, waiting for the obligatory "Bless you" and rolling his eyes when he was met with silence. Checking to make sure there was nobody watching, he ran his sleeve across his face, wiping away any evidence of his earth-rattling sneeze.

"That's disgusting," Tibbet commented from his place on the ladder, above the other boy by several shelves. Crope looked up sharply.

"What's that?" he asked, trying to ignore the fact that he'd been caught in an act of uncleanliness.

"Don't play the innocent," Tibbet replied. "The role's never suited you. I said that was disgusting."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I'm sure you do. Wiping snot off your face with your clothing is, in fact, disgusting."

"What does it matter?" Crope muttered. "You're just going to take them off for me anyway." The thought made Crope cheer up briefly, before he returned to his grousing.

In truth, Crope was not in good spirits. It was a beautiful summer day, and he'd spent the majority of it cooped up in the musty old library, his only company the ancient, cobwebby old volumes - and Tibbet. Boq should have been there as well, but the Munchkin had said he had some sort of "mission" with Elphaba, a mission which Crope strongly suspected involved them drinking tea. And so here they were now, pretending to sort and dust, actually looking for the manuscripts Elphaba had requested the last time they'd met. Like they were the library errand boys and this was their only purpose in life. Crope sent thoughts of malice towards their missing companions and hoped they could feel them.

To put it plainly, Crope was in no mood for bookkeeping or banter.

"Have you fallen asleep? Can't be a comfortable position, on your feet and everything." Tibbet's voice interrupted Crope's mental grousing, and the boy glared up at his companion, still atop the ladder. The look caused Tibbet to let out an amused whistle. "My, my, aren't we in a mood today! Have the dust mites taken up residence in your brain? It must cause the most dreadful headaches."

Tibbet's grin was teasing, but Crope just scowled and turned away. His sulk was interrupted yet again by a loud crash. Crope jumped and turned to find an overturned book lying perilously close to where he stood. He shot another glare at Tibbet.

"What's the matter with you?" he cried. "You could have hit me!"

"I know," Tibbet replied, one eye closed as he held another book out over the general area of Crope's skull. "Give me another chance and I'm sure my aim will improve." He dropped the second book, barely giving Crope time to get out of the way.

"Why are you pelting me with first editions?" Crope demanded.

"I'm just trying to knock some sense into you," Tibbet insisted. "You've been out of sorts all day."

"Well, stop it! For Oz's sake, you're going to get me killed!"

"No, no, of course not!" Tibbet insisted. "If my goal were to get you killed, I would have picked a heavier volume!" He hurled a third unfortunate book down, and Crope threw his arms over his face, letting out a squawk when the corner made contact.

"I hope that wasn't the sneezy sleeve," Tibbet commented in a rather off-handed manner, peering down from his position near the top of the shelf. For Crope, that comment was the last straw, and he grabbed onto one of the rungs, giving the ladder a rough shake (and giving Tibbet a taste of his own medicine). Startled, Tibbet nearly toppled over the side, gripping the ladder with one hand and the shelf with the other. He looked down again to see Crope peering up at him, and with a growl descended the ladder.

"Listen, you," he said as he made his way down to the floor, "getting hit with a book or two is one thing. Plunging headfirst to the ground is another!"

"Three books," Crope corrected.

"Well, who's counting?" Tibbet waved him off, much to Crope's mounting annoyance.

"I'm counting!" he yelled, surprising himself by the vehemence of his own tone. Even Tibbet had the good graces to look momentarily taken aback.

"Look, you're not the one who was nearly killed," he accused, recovering quickly.

"No, but you're the one who's being a pain in the ass!"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Perhaps, but I'm not sure I heard you correctly."

"Well, let me enlighten you, then!" Crope snapped. "It's hot, I'm tired, and I don't want to be here. I'm spending my entire summer locked up inside a library - a place I've never voluntarily set foot in once in my life - cleaning cobwebs from dusty, crusty old books and going on a treasure hunt for a green girl and her Munchkin accomplice! I should be on break like everyone else right now, and instead I'm being held hostage by a Rhinoceros and forced to spend all my time, day in a day out, with you. So, please, _forgive me_ if my temper's a little short!"

The two boys stood opposite of each other, two pairs of eyes locked, Crope's face scarlet in color and Tibbet wearing an expression of bewilderment. Thick silence settled in around them, and neither moved for several minutes.

"What's wrong with me?" Tibbet finally spoke up, and Crope suppressed the urge to scream out loud. Had he really not heard a word of his ranting until he'd been brought up? Surely he couldn't be that thick!

"You?" Crope finally sputtered. "What's wrong with you? I can't actually answer that, as it requires certain knowledge that I simply don't possess. Would you like me to hazard a guess?"

"I don't care for your tone," Tibbet warned.

"I don't care for your face!" Crope shot back, enraged beyond reason at the boy's calm demeanor.

"Now look," Tibbet replied. "You're loosing your head. Don't make me slap some sense back into you, because so help me, I will if I msut." When Crope whirled on him and took a menacing step forward, Tibbet held his hand up in a gesture of attack. "It's for your own good.

Crope stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before spinning on his heel and stalking off to the next stack over. Without warning, his bellowing echoed through the enormous room, accompanied by the sound of feet stamping. Unperturbed, Tibbet leaned against the shelf, waiting for Crope to wear himself out. The boy returned a few minutes later, still red-faced but breathing evenly. He made his way over to Tibbet and leaned against the shelf in a similar fashion.

"Rather a one-sided argument, wasn't it?" Tibbet commented. Crope just nodded. "Feel any better now?"

"I'm still hot," Crope complained. Tibbet snaked an arm around Crope's waist, giving the boy a wicked grin.

"Well, let's put it to use then," he suggested.

"What about work?" Crope offered as a half-hearted suggestion, doing nothing to discourage Tibbet's lips against his throat. He laughed slightly.

"I think it's time for a break."


End file.
